"Good work, Jingliu." A refined blond man called out, finishing off the last wingweaver.
"It was nothing. How far are we from the next source?" A cold voice asked in a weary tone.
"Hmm, let me see." The man held out his spare hand into the air as a green aura converged towards it. "We're still far, I would guess several light years away, likely rooted at Thalassa." The man deduced.
The man named Luocha wore a distinct, faint smile that always hung on his face. His sharp chin and gentle eyes gave an impression of a charismatic young man.
"It would likely take days until we can reach our next planet, let's take refuge in this town to rest," Luocha suggested. "And once rejuvenated, we will take a commercial star craft towards our next destination."
"We should not rest until all the source is eradicated- ugh." A sudden spike of emotional feeling took over Jingliu.
"Jingliu, with flowing blue hair like moonlit silk, carried an aura of distant elegance that set her apart like a blade among stones. Her skin, smooth and pale like carved jade, seemed untouched by time, gleaming with a faint, cold luster—beautiful, yet untouchable. Her most notable feature is a blindfold that veils her eyes from the outside world.
"Take it easy, your mara is acting up again," Loucha commanded the green aura to envelop Jingliu, which calmed her chaotic mind.
"Hmm, perhaps you're right, let's take refuge within the city walls." Jingliu relents, her curse has been on rampant activity as of late, and Luocha diagnosed it to her overworking her own body.
Dispersing the ice claymore, she climbed into Luocha's coffin, and Luocha gently closed the lid. Enveloped by darkness and Luocha's power, it was ironic for a being barely clinging to its sense of self to find solace only in a coffin.
Closing her eyes, Jingliu finally gave her weary body a rest.
Within her dream would usually be a chaotic place where every memory she had gathered over a millennium would collide with each other, every passing second she relived a scene, only to suddenly relive a different one.
But this time, maybe because of Luocha's effort, she was placed in a void, no fire, no house, no sound, and no whispers.
Jingliu observed her surroundings in confusion, which made it so different from her other dream.
"It's too quiet.. right?" Suddenly, a voice from behind broke the silence.
Quickly summoning her sword, Jingliu slashed behind her, only to be met with nothing.
"Huhu, no need to be panicked Jingliu, nothing will hurt you anymore, of course that is if you do not annoy me," I said, looking at Jingliu, who was vigorously looking around to find the source of my voice.
"It matters not if you slash my body or not, it will not make a difference, ah- but where is my decorum, foolish me." Shadows gather in front of Jingliu, its features are incoherent and always shifting. "Let me introduce myself, I'm the mara, or rather a part that gained a brain of their own. I bow concerning the lady of this consciousness." The shape of a hat formed on my head as I brought it down to my chest.
Jingliu scrutinized me with a piercing gaze before speaking, "What did you do?"
"For what does this lady refer to, please enlighten me."
"What did you do to make 'this' so quiet?"
"Oh, I simply controlled the mara inside of you to calm down, they were too rampant for their good and simply do not know who they truly are and how they are causing harm to the lady."
"I see." Jingliu's tension seemingly calmed down for a bit, trusting me for my word, "So you can control the mara?"
"Indeed, the reason for the chaotic dream you have been experiencing was the untamed mara. Of course, since I am also Mara, I can control what they can control." Suddenly, the environment slowly changed, as grass sprouted from the ground and the sky turned sunny.
"This is where you met that young man, Luocha, was it?" I looked towards the vast expanse of the field as the warm wind danced around me.
Jingliu, who was slightly surprised, recognized this place instantly before nodding, "Indeed, this place is where he and I made a promise."
"I vow to search for a cure to the mara that has haunted you for centuries." Luocha's and my voice interlocked.
"Now that your mara has been calmed down, will you still get rid of it?" I asked.
"Yes." Jingliu's firm voice brought a frown to my face.
"Are you sure it is wise to upset the mara, Jingliu?" I gave an icy glance towards Jingliu.
"I have suffered from you for centuries, I despised you to the very core," Jingliu said with a hint of hatred.
With a frown, I asked, "Tell me, do you blame a mindless plague which kills indiscriminately for its crime, or do you blame the poisoner who created the plague?" I looked at Jingliu with a sharp look.
"I..." Jingliu was momentarily hesitant but soon found an answer, "Both."
Hearing the answer, I could only sigh in regret. "I see, I apologize in advance, Lady, but I do hope you reconsider your answer the next time we meet."
Jingliu froze, a flicker of confusion in her crimson gaze. Then, without warning, the world twisted.
The stillness was shattered, replaced by a city engulfed in flames. Smoke choked the sky, and the scent of burning wood and flesh stung her senses. Screams pierced the air—raw, human, terrified.
Her breath caught.
She knew this place. Too well.
It was the memory she tried hardest to bury—the fall of her world. Her failure. Her shame. Her grief.
And then... they appeared.
Shadows emerged from the fire, rising from the smoke like ghosts given form. But these were no strangers. They were faces she once knew. Her comrades. Her disciple. Her family. Her master.
Flickering, unreal—yet more vivid than dreams had any right to be.
They surrounded her, eyes filled with something colder than death.
"Jing... liu... why did you let us die...?"
The words struck her like a blade to the gut. Their voices—dripping with sorrow, with betrayal—rattled her soul.
Her chest tightened. Her hands trembled.
She summoned her sword, channeling her pain into something solid, something she could hold—something she could use to forget. The sword formed in her grasp, cold and sharp.
Without a word, she drove it into her master's chest.
But as the blade sank into shadow, memories bled into her mind. His laughter. The quiet wisdom in his voice. A steady hand on her shoulder during her youth.
Her heart cracked.
The hesitation cost her.
Her disciple lunged—his glaive aimed straight at her heart, just as she had once taught him. She moved on instinct—parried, spun, and in a blink, severed his head.
It fell with a sickening silence.
Then came the memories again. The pride in his eyes as he mastered a form. The childlike excitement was the first time he called her "Master." A life she had once guarded with her own.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
This was no ordinary dream. No fragmented echo. This was deliberate. Cruel.
Here, in the ashes of her greatest failure, she was forced to relive her most cherished moments—only to destroy them, one by one.
Each slash of her blade tore through shadow, but also through her heart. With every ghost she cut down, it felt less like a battle and more like mourning.
She wasn't just fighting memories. She was burying them—again and again—with her own hands.